Fire
by EyesThatSee
Summary: Lothíriel marries Théodred of Rohan amidst a world about to be destroyed by the blood red tides of war. Her new life in Rohan is anything but expected, especially as she grows closer with two vastly different marshalls, and befriends Lady Éowyn. But darker currents are afoot, as a worm and a war grow to tear appart the world that Lothíriel has tentatively started to love.
1. Chapter 1

The door closed as the last person finally left and Theodred strode over to lock the bolt. Clutching against the folds of her dress, Lothiriel's hands broke out into a nervous sweat. Now that the last of their family and friends had left, the bedding would take place. Lothiriel swallowed nervously as she tentatively sat down on the side of Theodred's-no, _their-_ massive bed. She forced herself to remember that she and Prince Theodred now shared everything in this room. This was her new home, but all of it was foreign.

It was no great surprise to Lothiriel, previous Princess of Dol Amroth and now Princess of Rohan, that she would not marry for love. Raised in a noble household of Gondor, she had long known this fate awaited her. Nobility married to strengthen ties and create familial and business bonds. Marriage for love was a true rarity. As Lothiriel's Aunt often reminded her, in a truly noble marriage, respect was the stick that held the relationship together. With respect a strong partnership could blossom and maybe, if an exceptional pair was lucky enough, with time love could also develop.

The romantic outcome appeared improbable to Lothiriel, and she entertained little hope of it. She was now married to a man almost double her 20 years of age, and had never met him before three days previous when she arrived in Edoras. Her Uncle Denethor had commissioned the marriage with King Theoden and his advisers. Prince Imrahil, her father, had grudgingly accepted Denethor's orders.

However dismal the future may appear, though, Lothiriel was able to find some small joys. She had always known that Uncle Denethor would marry her off to the greatest alliance he could find on Gondor's behalf. The fact that it was to a noble, respected prince was a happy thought. Much better than a Haradrim king, or Dunlending chieftain. He would hopefully treat her with kindness. Also, she had a great love of horses, and for that there could be no greater kingdom to marry into.

Lothiriel sucked in a panicky breath as Theodred plopped onto the bed beside her and pulled her to him. He planted a careful kiss upon her forehead and locked eyes with her. Light gray like sea foam locked with dark blue pools. A line formed between his brows as he slowly took off his tunic, and she took her cue to do the same. Quickly, the thin gown lay upon the floor and Theodred unlaced his own breeches. Naked forms and veiled thoughts.

Theodred laid her naked body beneath his and leaned over her, his manhood invisible in the dark, yet she could feel it pressed up against her leg. A shiver ran down Lothiriel's body and she stiffened in near panic.

"You are beautiful," he murmured as his eyes appraised her naked body.

"Thank you, my lord," she whispered. He leaned in and brought his lips to hers. They had only shared one kiss before, a brief and chaste part of the marriage ceremony earlier that evening. This did not vary much from it, only lingered longer.

He frowned. "Please, call me Theodred."

"Yes, Theodred." His hand cupped the side of her cheek.

"You are also terribly young," he sighed into her ear. "You would willingly give yourself to me?"

"Of course my l-Theodred," she murmured stiffly.

"Out of duty, yes. But you would not be able to give me your heart." He seemed to make it a question, his eyes searching hers in the limited light.

"No, my lord," she whispered quietest of all.

"So be it." He delicately kissed her forehead once more and rolled off of the bed. Rummaging on one of his desks, he returned to the bed with something that glinted in the light in hand. The bed lurched with his weight as he joined her once more, kneeling beside her rigid body. Then, he brought the shining thing up and cut it across the palm of his hand-it was a knife.

"My lord!" Lothiriel gasped. "What are you doing?!"

"Making it so that you mustn't comply with the duty of giving me your maidenhead this night." Then, he released the blood from his hand and rubbed it into the sheets beside him. "The servants will be checking in the morning to see that the marriage bed has been consummated. The marriage, and my protection of you within these halls, is not valid unless this happens." Finished spreading the blood from his hands, he returned his knife to the desk and leaped beneath the covers. Lothiriel slowly joined him, on the opposite side of the bed.

Theodred's snores quickly reverberated across the massive bed. Rest did not come easily to Lothiriel that night, but a tiny knot of nervousness began to dissipate within her. Her new husband was, apparently, kind.


	2. Chapter 2

Distant bird song awoke Lothíriel the next morn. Sleep had not found her until the wee hours of the morning. If the slanting rays of sunlight coming through the window were any indication, she had wasted almost the entire morning in bed. Yawning and stretching slowly she rolled out of bed, still in the nude. Her spine and shoulders were stiff from sleeping in a rigid, nervous knot the night before.

The previous night. What to think of it? Théodred had excused her from her bedroom duties. Would he now expect her to comply the coming night? Had it been merely a one-time kindness? Or would he truly wait until she gave herself to him in heart, if ever? And what if she never could? The future king of Rohan-or the Riddermark, as the natives called it-would need heirs.

The rustling of paper alerted her to Théodred's presence. Clutching maps to his chest, he paced into the bedchamber from one of his-_their_-other personal chambers. His eyes grew wide as he caught sight of Lothíriel's form, and she snatched a pillow off of the bed to cover herself.

"My lord!" she exclaimed, flustered. A beet red blush swelled up in her cheeks and down her neck.

"My apologies. And I told you, call me Théodred." With that, he strode on into the opposite adjoining chamber without a backward glance. Before closing the door, he said, "Let me know when you're ready to break fast. We should enter the hall together." The door snapped shut.

With an exasperated sigh, Lothíriel sprawled back onto the bed and took a deep, measured breath. In the corner, a massive chest containing her things had been left until they would be unpacked. Lothíriel garbed herself in a plain, brown wool dress with leggings underneath. As soon as her family departed she planned to visit her mare, Hwest.

The mare had received little attention from her mistress the last few days, with all of the preparations for the wedding. So, now being a Princess of the Mark, Lothíriel felt it especially important that she attend to her steed. However, she had only this final morning to say goodbye to her father and brother. Only Amrothos had come along for the wedding, but he had always been closest with Lothiriel anyway. Managing dear Dol Amroth had kept the others at home. So, once Imrahil and Amrothos turned towards home, Lothíriel would seek and give comfort with her only companion from home, Hwest.

After slipping on her raiment, Lothíriel called for Théodred and he took her arm as he led her to the Great Hall. Silence between them allowed Lothíriel to calm and make herself ready for the court. These people were now _her_ people, and she would not have them see her as a delicate, weak Gondorian if she could help it. Carefully arranging her face into a cool, emotionless mask, the pair entered the hall. Though she did not feel like a lady, she would at least try to look the part.

Lothíriel had always paid little heed to the court at home in Dol Amroth. For the life of her, she could not stand the false pretenses and simpering attitudes of many of the women. Though she followed the etiquette and duties of a princess exactly, it was never truly willingly. The pompous manners of most courtiers often sent her retreating to one of her sanctuaries-the library, gardens, stables, or even the beaches and dunes outside of the palace. There she could ride Hwest until the both of them were breathless from the speed. There she could draw, read, and play her fiddle to her heart's content without the leery, greedy eyes of the courtiers evaluating her every more in anticipation. There she did not have to worry about people bothering her in attempts to make a connection and further their own status. There she could find peace.

It was with mild surprise that she observed the hall as she seated herself to the right of Théodred. The hall was busy, with people scattered throughout. No one waited for the noble family to break fast all at once, unlike the stiff table manners in Gondor. In fact, the people appeared to give little mind at all to table manners, Lothíriel noted as she observed a young couple embracing in one corner, and children on laps being spoon-fed. Such behavior would mortify some members of the court of Gondor. Hesitantly, Lothíriel smiled as she tucked into her meal. Théodred had already devoured half of his. Was the man always short on time, or simply that hungry? Bemused, Lothíriel continued to observe the hall as she partook in the meal. On Théodred's other side sat his father, Théoden King.

The King was as of yet an enigma to Lothíriel. In what little she had seen of him over the past few days, he had been weak and spoken few words, always leaning on a sallow, dark-haired adviser. It seemed to Lothíriel that the King's decaying health forced him to rely heavily on the aid of this adviser. Why, though, did the King not rely upon his own son instead? Théodred would take up the mantle of King upon his father's death. A sad, but true thought. Surely as the King degenerated he would wish to spend more time with his son, helping him prepare for the great responsibility of monarchy. Dark unbidden thoughts came to mind…what if Théodred did not live to be the next King? Lothíriel shook herself. No, of course he would. Safety of the Mark probably detained Théodred most of the time, so the King relied upon his adviser for help.

And yet, father and son exchanged no more than a quick, perfunctory greeting on the side of the son. The King barely wheezed in response, and mumbled something to his adviser, seated on his other side. As the meal continued, the King conversed quietly with his adviser and spoke not a word to his son.

A small cough interrupted Lothíriel from her contemplation. Turning to her other side, she saw that two ladies of the court had joined her. Their names she could not place, but she was certain they had been introduced at some point before the wedding. The one with dull, straw-ish hair sat closest to Lothíriel and had been the one to emit the cough. She spoke first.

"Good morning to you Princess. Might I ask how was your night?" though her Rohirric accent was thick in the Westron pronunciation, the meaning remained clear. The women's eyes glimmered with amusement as the implications of the question hit Lothíriel. Blush blossomed across her cheeks and she cast her eyes down. Then the panic hit. Did they know? Did they know what Théodred and she had done, or rather not done? The other woman, with wispy hairs the color of cornsilk, scoffed at the Princess's discomfort.

"Dusten, Kelwys in your attempts to embarrass others, you only bring shame to yourselves. Please remove yourselves from the High Table, and my seat." Despite the use of the word please, the authoritative tone left no doubt of the ladies' expected acquiescence. Lothíriel fought a smile when she observed Dusten and Kelwys now sporting blushes of their own as they scurried away. "Vultures, those two," her savior sighed. It was Lady Éowyn, of course. No other woman in the Golden Hall could command such respect. "And flatterers too. Don't let them get to you."

"I don't plan to, though I thank you for your aid my lady," Lothiriel smiled slightly.

"Just call me Éowyn. We are cousins now, after all," Éowyn insisted as she took her now vacated seat. Then she lowered her voice and whispered, so that only Lothíriel would hear. "Have no fear though Princess, they know not of your maidenhood."

"And you do?!" whispered Lothíriel hoarsely, nearly jumping from her seat.

The lady inclined her head. "Yes, Théodred told me." Then, regarding the Princess's strangled expression, she scowled. "Calm yourself. You look as though you have just swallowed rocks." Lothíriel mastered her expression and reformed the cool mask. "Don't fret. You can trust me with the secret. If there's anyone in this hall you can trust, it's Théodred, my brother, and I."

Théodred turned to look observe Éowyn's hushed tones. "What was that, cousin?"

"Good morning to you too, Théodred." Éowyn sighed. "I was simply informing Lothíriel of a thing or two about our hall." A look of understanding passed between the two of them, and Théodred's eyes flicked in the direction of the King and adviser.

"Thank you for that. Lady wife, I advise you to take heed of my cousin's words. I am off, I must meet with my counsel." After dropping a dispassionate kiss on Lothíriel's forehead, he left. Slightly bewildered, Lothíriel turned back to Éowyn.

"What else should I take heed of, exactly?" she asked, dropping her voice once again.

"We should not speak of it here…Later, when I take you for a ride after your family has departed."

"Very well. Would you happen to know where my family might be?"

"They broke their fasts early this morning, and are likely in the stables preparing to depart. Would you like me to accompany you to farewell them, and then we may ride?"

"It would be my pleasure." The two women finished their meal peacefully and left the hall.

Upon entering the stables, Lothíriel had to swallow her amazement in order not to gawk and to maintain the appearance of the cool, collected princess. The stables had to be at least twice the size of the ones back home, if not three. Ornate woodcarvings adorned the stalls and supported the roof. Lothíriel's artist hands itched to touch the smooth, intricate wood, and capture its texture in her own memory. She settled for promising herself to come back here one day and drawing the woodwork in great detail. Breathing in the scent of horses and hay, she smiled and followed Éowyn towards a nearby stall from which floated the voices of her family and their servants.

Creaking the door open, Lothíriel smiled as her father, Prince Imrahil, immediately encircled her in his arms. The massive stable stall allowed for her father, brother, Éowyn, and four servants as well as Lothíriel herself to stand comfortably beside her father's mount. Six family guards waited outside, already on their own mounts.

"Good morning, sister," Amrothos grinned. Kissing her cheek quickly, he ducked out to ready his own mount.

"You leave so quickly father. I would think you did not wish to say farewell," Lothíriel turned back to her father, who was adjusting the straps on his saddle.

"I must admit daughter, it is a surprise to see you here. I had not expected this." His glance slid toward Éowyn, and the Rohirric lady inclined her head fractionally.

"Of course I want to see you off, I only wish you did not have to leave so quickly."

"I, too, daughter. But Dol Amroth must not be without me, and already I have been absent too long. I still hope to arrive before Sonima gives birth." Her brother Elphir's wife, Sonima, had been due to give birth to their first child any day upon our departure from Dol Amroth. Due to this, Elphir and Sonima had been unable to leave Dol Amroth to attend her wedding. Erchirion, her last brother, stayed at home as well because he was to be the child's godfather.

"You will write me when you arrive at home though?" Lothíriel requested eagerly. "And force your sons to lift a quill from time to time as well?"

"Of course. As soon as I reach Dol Amroth I shall send my fastest courier." Appeased, she relented.

"Thank you, father," she hugged him genuinely. "I will miss you," she then murmured into his shoulder.

"And I miss you already daughter. Stay safe and trust carefully," he whispered so that only she could hear. With a final squeeze, he pulled back to gaze at her with a sad smile. Amrothos arrived with his horse waiting outside the stall and the Dol Amroth party prepared to depart. With a final glance, Prince Imrahil said, "Look after her Lady Éowyn." Too quickly for Lothíriel to comprehend, the party was off cantering out of the stables and down the streets of Edoras. Slightly stung by the abrupt departure, Lothíriel followed Éowyn to her horse's stall.

Breeze in her hair and exhilarated laughter in her lungs helped her poor mood somewhat. Éowyn had raced her out of the city and they drew over the surrounding grassy hills all the way to the forest's edge. Foam flecked from Hwest's mouth as the horse grunted energetically. Reining her in, Lothíriel patted her side appreciatively. Éowyn had won the race of course, but Hwest had put up a good fight. Slowed to a walk, Éowyn allowed Lothíriel to catch up to her.

"I must be honest. You put up a better fight than I expected Princess," the lady admitted.

"Well, you had the advantage of knowing the course."

"Don't grow boastful now, I could have beat you anywhere," Éowyn smirked. Lothíriel chuckled and nodded in assent. They continued to ride along the forest's edge as Éowyn articulated that this was as far as a lone ride should go, and was as far as it was safe.

"Safe? It is dangerous to stray alone so close to the capital?" remarked the Gondorian.

"Do not risk it. A great darkness hovers over Rohan at the moment. I would not speak of it if we were not alone, but here perhaps we may talk plainly." Éowyn lowered her voice conspiratorially. "There is more than one reason your father left so quickly. His surprise in seeing you starts with Théodred's break in tradition."

"Théodred? Prince Théodred breaking tradition?"

"Yes. In Rohan it is tradition for the bride to remain in the bedroom for three days time. The husband may then come and attempt to make her with child anytime he pleases." Éowyn wrinkled her nose in evidence of her disgust. "It is a vile tradition, but tradition nonetheless. Théodred refused to subject you to this, weighing your honor over that particular tradition of our people. So, your father had not expected to see you at all this morning and was surprised by your presence in the stables. No doubt, if that was the only reason he left so quickly, he would have delayed their departure upon discovering your presence. But he also hurried to leave because of the threat staying posed." Lothíriel turned her head in question and Éowyn continued. "Yes, all in Meduseld is not well. A menace lurks in the shadows, though the true threat remains unclear. My uncle is not himself, and I do not know if the good man he once was may ever return. I warned your father vaguely last night. He planned to leave early before anything nasty could befall the party while your people were vulnerable here under the king's care, or lack of."

"Does Théodred know the extent of the king's…illness?" Lothíriel ventured.

"No one truly knows the extent of it. But yes, Théodred knows of it. He, along with my brother, attempt to protect our people. And yet there is only so much they can do, as Théoden's apathetic stupor limits their abilities."

"Has no one tried to confront the king?"

Éowyn's glowered at Lothíriel. "Of course not. To confront the king in his own hall would leave to nothing but folly-be it arrest, banishment, execution… Nothing but folly."

"I am sorry," Lothíriel dipped her head.

Sighing, Éowyn turned to her. "Do not apologize. If Meduseld were the hall it used to be no doubt someone would contest the situation. Goodness knows my brother itches to…You could not have known. The golden hall is but a shadow of its former glory with the king in his state. I warn you now, though, be wary of this topic within the city. You never know who may be listening, and to speak ill of the king is punishable by death." Silence descended, and Lothíriel was left to contemplate the conspiracy within her new home.

"Come, hurry. The day is nearly dead, we must return to the hall before darkness takes over," the white lady warned. Turning round, the two women and their horses cut across the field, away from the forest edge and directly toward the gates of Edoras. As they drew near, Lothíriel registered a line of people shambling into the gate. Éowyn explained, "They are refugees. Their homes have been ravaged, their way of life destroyed by raids. And they are the lucky ones. Every day more trickle in."

"How are they all taken in?"

"You know, Lothíriel, you are highly inquisitive…" Éowyn's following words held none of the previous jest. Instead, they came off of her tongue smooth, certain, and brimming with pride. "We Rohirrim do not turn away our own kind. We manage." Regarding a young mop-headed boy carrying a little girl, presumably his sister, enter the city without any parents, Éowyn's brow furrowed. "Though many families have lost some loved ones of their own, so many homes contain vacant rooms."

Chills ran up Lothíriel's spine as they drew closer to the gate and passed under it. She felt moronic and ashamed in her well-tailored gown beside the dispirited threadbare folk entering the city. Spurring Hwest on to the stables, she began to question if or how she could help these people-her new people.

Author's Note: Hwest translates to breeze in Sindarin. (Or at least, I'm fairly certain it does…)

Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated (=


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Upon entering the stables, Lothíriel and Éowyn discovered Théodred and his men preparing horses to leave.

"My ladies." Through the commotion Théodred strode up to them in full armor. In contrast with the dark coloring of his mail, his blue eyes shone with cold determination. "Come with me while I prepare my horse." He sped off down the stalls as Lothíriel and Éowyn quickly handed off their horses to stablehands. Closing the door after them, Éowyn turned to her cousin sharply.

"What causes the rush this time Théodred?" she questioned, jaw clenched in worry.

"A messenger from the Westfold arrived while you were gone. Dunlendings encroach upon our land even further." Complete with the preparation of his horse and turning to Lothíriel rapidly, he continued. "Lady wife. I implore you, be cautious in my absence. Trust to only my cousins and myself." He then turned to Éowyn, gripping her shoulder in comfort. She placed her hand over his in return. Then, for the second time that day, Lothíriel stood by and watched as someone she was counting upon jumped onto horseback and rode out of the stables. With his men behind him, the Rohirrim surged out of Edoras and onto the plains at a wild pace.

.o.

Within Meduseld, Éowyn guided Lothíriel through the corridors to the chambers she shared with Théodred. Sitting down at a table next to the fire, the white lady ordered them a private supper, and servants rushed about bringing in platters of steaming, hearty fare.

"You are wondering why we are having a private meal in your chambers, but are too polite to ask," Éowyn stated as they ate. "I thought it best not to subject you to the courtiers so soon, in case more women like Dusten and Kelwys decide to embarrass you. But also, you ought to know that Théodred would never tell anyone other than Éomer and I about your maidenhood; to do so would defeat the purpose of protecting you. Nor does he plan to take your maidenhood unless you wish it, and only if you loved him truly. But he will not take it because your marriage may still be annulled once he becomes king, and your honor would remain intact. You could marry whomever you loved."

"Prince Théodred is a good man," replied the Gondorian, after taking a moment to absorb the lady's words. "Too good."

Éowyn smiled. "He, too, would be able to marry a person of his own choice, Lothíriel."

"And I shall wish them all the happiness in the world," Lothíriel breathed, hope pulling within her bones and tugging her mood away from the stupor of despair.

"I hope you understand, Lothíriel, that the house of Eorl is not your enemy, We did not ask for this marriage anymore than you yourself did; it was orchestrated by those with greater power over the situation."

Lothíriel met this response with silence, wary of the rush of gratitude she felt towards Éowyn for this explanation. If Éowyn spoke true, she had been lucky indeed to be thrust into a house that had already shown such respect and care for her wellbeing.

.o.

Later that night, alone, Lothíriel pulled her fiddle from her trunk. Not having played since before leaving Dol Amroth, her fingers yearned to release notes up and down the strings, to fill her heart with music when in truth she felt largely hollow and alone. Tuning it slowly, until the notes sang true and gentle, she began to play.

It was a lilting melody, slowly accelerating in speed and complexity. By the end her fingers danced along the strings and she fought to steady her breath. It centered her, freed her from her own situation. Her own troubles drifted away as she released the notes, and her world narrowed to the strings of the fiddle, her fingers flying up and down them, and the vibration of the bow. Through this, she could find tranquility.

After a while, however, she retired the fiddle out of fear of waking others. The hour past midnight, she paced her room in search of some form of occupation. Since the death of her mother, rest had not come easily to Lothíriel. When it did come, nightmares would plague her, and in Dol Amroth she had taken to wandering about the palace after nightfall. At last she opened the door and slipped through the shadows to the stables.

Crisp night air wafted through the wooden building as she arrived at Hwest's stall. The mare huffed in her face as Lothíriel let herself into the ornate stall, wrapping her arms around the horse's warm neck. Hwest continued to consume the feed in the corner of her stall as Lothíriel plaited the mare's coarse hair and brushed her coat. In companionable silence, she sat beside Hwest.

.o.

Hesitantly, Lothíriel came to know Edoras. During the day, she fulfilled her duty as Princess to the best of her ability. For the most part, this meant visiting refugees with Lady Éowyn and on her own once her confidence grew. It also included many hours studying the Rohirric language and culture in Meduseld's somewhat abandoned royal library. The Rohirrim were not a reading people, instead preferring to transfer memories orally through song. As such, the books in their royal library numbered far fewer than that of Dol Amroth. Given time, she became bolder and dared to walk the streets of Edoras alone, becoming acquainted with the merchants. Overall, Lothíriel fulfilled her duties as the new princess of Rohan keenly, quietly, and determinedly.

It was at night, though, when she could be her true self without the obedient mask of the princess. At night she wandered about Meduseld, acquainting herself with marvelous reading hovels, and drawing the remarkably detailed adornments of the house of Eorl and the people within it. In the stables, Lothíriel's thirst to draw was most satiated by the striking Rohirric horses. In day she feared being caught by their riders, but at night she would visit Hwest and capture the beauty of the other horses within the stables alone and unchallenged.

One such night half a month after her marriage, Lothíriel found her way to the stables, unable to sleep as usual. The stables were empty and silent, the hour past midnight. After greeting Hwest affectionately, Lothíriel glanced around the stables. Several new stalls were filled-so many new subjects for her sketches! An eored must have returned sometime in the night, for many of the horses were unfamiliar to Lothíriel. Particularly, an extremely tall, grey-coated stallion stationed in the pen across from Hwest stood out to her.

As Lothíriel approached, he nickered gently and tossed his braided mane. A beautiful, muscular horse. She could not wait to capture him in drawing. Letting herself into his stall, he nuzzled her hand in search of food. Upon realizing she had none, he ignored her. She sat down on the bench in the corner of the stall, unwrapping her drawing book and charcoals.

Slowly, she began to shade the contours of his shape. The stallion studiously ignored her as he munched on his oats in the corner of the stall. Moonlight cast long shadows across the stables. Half finished with her drawing, Lothíriel began to drift to sleep. Slumped against the wall of the stable stall, she succumbed to utter exhaustion.

Suddenly, she was slammed bodily against the wall of the pen, her head smashing against the hard wood. An arm pressed hard against her throat, and before she could even scream a hand covered her mouth. All that she could comprehend was the smell of wood smoke and warm grass.

"Who sent you?" the deep voice of her attacker growled, pinning his body against hers. Absolutely bewildered and frightened for her life, the princess writhed beneath his hold. It was no use, the man was in full armor and far stronger than she. Despite her attempts to shove him off, she could find no purchase on his mail. He only pressed his arm harder against her throat.

Abruptly, she crashed her forehead against his in an attempt to break free. Though the man let go for a moment, he immediately pressed her to the straw floor, a knee on each of her shoulders and the cold blade of a dagger at her throat. Slowly, he lifted his hand away from her mouth.

"Speak. Who are you? You work for Wormtongue?" he hissed, his eyes dark and uncompromising.

"Wormtongue?! Who are you?" she whispered harshly. "And how dare you touch me so assertively!"

"I'll touch someone who plans to poison my horse for the worm however I want!"

Even more perplexed, Lothíriel simply murmured in disbelief, "What?"

"Don't pretend like you don't know what you're doing in here. It's perfectly clear that Wormtongue sent you here to poison or hurt Firefoot in some way. He is my best mount.." When Lothíriel only gaped with confusion he sighed in aggravation. "Feigned ignorance will not help you," he continued, his voice low and menacing. "Start talking."

As she continued to gape, the man pushed the flat side of the dagger against Lothíriel's throat. She summoned her best regal voice. "I am Lothíriel. Former Princess of Dol Amroth and now Princess of Rohan. Unhand me, or answer to my husband the Crown Prince." She hoped he did not notice how she shook with fear; she hoped he did not see through the mask of her regal presence. His manner changed. His dark brown eyes widened, appearing less brutal and yet somehow more contemptuous and distrusting. Slowly, he looked over her nightgown. Silk, with fine embroidery on the chest. One of the sleeves had rolled off her shoulder amidst their scuffle, making her scowl.

"Grey eyes, dark hair, and a condescending gaze. You certainly look the part, _my lady,"_ he sneered the words in derision. Pulling the sleeve up over her shoulder, he brusquely dragged her to her feet.

Regarding her eyes filled with cold fury, the man slowly relinquished the position of his dagger against her throat. Instead, gripping her tight by the waist, he turned her toward the door. Her waist burned with his crushing touch. Eyes full of contempt, he pushed her ahead of him. "If you are as you say, my sister will know. If you are not, I hold some pity for you. But not much."

As they entered Meduseld, the man removed his hold on her waist. The door wardens bowed their heads to him in respect. Who was this man, who commanded such respect and yet attacked Lothíriel unannounced in the dead of the night? A concealed blade discreetly pricked against her back and she hurried into the hall, the man's arm seemingly patting against the small of her back. Guiding her quickly through the dimly lit corridors off of the main chamber, the man once again held the knife to her throat.

"Don't try anything. Please." His voice sounded utterly tired, and yet it still burned with determination. He kicked his foot against one of the doors in the form of a knock.

A drowsy Lady Éowyn opened her bedroom door, eyes shooting wide as she took in the sight of her brother holding a knife to their new cousin-in-law.

"Éomer!" she whispered hoarsely, pulling the pair into her room and locking the door. "What are you doing with Lothíriel, at this hour?" The princess's face flushed at the impropriety the words implied.

Éomer let out a sigh, releasing Lothíriel and pushing her away from him. "I was going to tend to Firefoot before we leave in the morning, and I found this one in his stall."

"Sleeping, with art supplies on my lap," Lothíriel added with ire.

"Art supplies?" responded Éowyn.

Lothíriel ducked her head in embarrassment. Well, that nightly tradition would no longer be available to her. "Yes. When I cannot rest at night I sometimes go down to the stables and draw the horses," she admonished. "I fell asleep while sketching Lord Éomer's horse, and he attacked me."

"Because of course sneaking into the stable of the horse lords is an excellent idea, especially at the dead of night. Gondorian fool!" he cursed. "Your audacity is met only by your stupidity."

"Brother," Éowyn rebuked him with a glance.

Éomer sighed and crumpled down in a chair, his head bowed and hands entangled in his dark golden mane. "Leave us, Princess Lothíriel," he commanded without looking up.

She did not need another word. Quickly, the princess closed the door behind her and returned to her own room. Flopping onto the bed, she sighed. The first light of dawn was pricking onto the horizon. Crawling beneath the covers, she attempted to get perhaps an hour of rest before starting the day. But the scorn of that accursed man, Marshal Éomer, would not leave her. And he was one of the people Théodred had told her to trust! It was unlikely, after their first encounter, that Lothíriel would ever rely upon such an imperious, belligerent, and violent man. She rose from the bed, and dressed herself for the day.

Thankfully, he was not in the great hall when she entered. Finishing her meal quickly, she went on with her day. All the while the Marshal's anger pierced the back of her mind. Throwing herself zealously into her tasks, she forgot about him until supper when Lady Éowyn informed her that he and his men had left shortly after dawn. Lothíriel breathed a silent sigh of relief.

.o.

Her life in Edoras returned to the undisturbed, simple normality Lothíriel was becoming used to as the month of May died. The refugees continued to trickle into Edoras, and some stayed with relatives or distant relations of some kind. Many members of Edoras opened their homes to strangers.

Still, though, countless people were without homes, living on scraps. The children were the hardest to see, with their gaunt faces, ashen skin, and vacant eyes. Lothíriel would pass them on her way to take Hwest riding and to purchase supplies for Meduseld with Lady Éowyn. Never had she seen so many orphans.

Éowyn told her as they returned to Meduseld one day that she had petitioned her uncle to make a royal order to the people of Edoras to take at least the homeless children into their homes. Under the influence of his advisor, the king had ignored this idea. Éowyn had then asked that Meduseld take some of the orphans into its own halls. Apparently, Wormtongue had persuaded the old king that his niece's intent was to place thieves and vagrants in the hall in order to disrupt his rule. So, Éowyn's second request was denied, leaving her with no way of helping the refugees but to give them coin as she passed.

As they drew nearer to Meduseld and passed the guest houses at the bottom of the hill, an idea began to form in Lothíriel's mind. Hesitantly, she brought it forward to Éowyn as they supped in the princess's royal quarters.

In response, Éowyn smiled a wide and true grin for the first time since Lothíriel had known her. The blonde woman nearly knocked over her soup bowl as she wrapped Lothíriel in a fierce hug.

"Yes!" Éowyn laughed in delight. "It is absolutely within your power to open Théodred's guest houses to the refugees; you are his wife after all." She stood in excitement. "I shall tell Sunnifa, Háma's wife. She will help make the arrangements first thing on the morrow. This is wonderful. Thank you, Lothíriel," Éowyn said as she closed her arms around the princess in another hug and then giddily hurried out of the room. Her unfinished soup remained across from Lothíriel. A smile tugged at her lips as the princess tried to reconcile the image of Éowyn hugging her and calling anything wonderful with the fierce, yet despondent demeanor Éowyn usually exhibited. She finished her own soup, and went to sleep.

A/N: Thank you for reading. If you have any comments, please review. Feedback is marvelous (=


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